


He Sent Roses

by type_40_consulting_detective



Series: My Short Works [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anniversary, Greg is a romantic, M/M, Roses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 07:57:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3439502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/type_40_consulting_detective/pseuds/type_40_consulting_detective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For their anniversairy, Greg sends roses and Mycroft endures. Inspired by <a href="http://yetiinmypocket.tumblr.com/post/112115662187">this cake.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	He Sent Roses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beautifullyheeled](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifullyheeled/gifts).



The first year, Greg sent him a half dozen red roses in a stunning vase, baby’s breath and greenery mixed in with the blooms. Mycroft rolled his eyes but grinned, and Anthea put them in the office. The smell was so strong, it distracted him, and his suit smelt of the perfume even when he went home. He didn’t mention that to his husband. He was pleased for the remainder of their full year married, but even a bit more pleased when the scent faded and the roses were taken out.

The second year, Greg hand delivered a dozen, and was quite please with himself. Mycroft had them put in the front office rather than his own, and Anthea gave him a pointed look when he did, but didn’t protest. Mycroft avoided leaving his shut up office, lest the heady rose perfume hit him. He felt ill each time, but didn’t say a word again to Greg, just thanked him for the lovely gift.

Between their second and third anniversary, there was an argument about garden planning that started small and ballooned into a few days without speaking. When it all came to a head, Mycroft had shouted that he’d rather fill it full of dandelions than have rosebushes under the window to their bedroom, as it was so often left open in the summer and the room would stink of it. He regretted it instantly, but what was done was done. Once cooler heads prevailed, the garden was done in hedges and fruit trees, and no one spoke of roses again.

In the days before their third anniversary, Mycroft dreaded the bouquet that must already be planned, as Greg had probably forgotten the rose comment and was a very traditional romantic. Coming in on the day, Anthea informed him that both his husband and his gift were waiting inside, and then scurried off for her lunch. Mycroft took a deep breath and opened the door, but no scent hit him beyond the familiar books and leather, and the hint of Greg’s favorite cologne. Instead, on his desk was a pink bakery box, a knife, two plates and forks.

“You know, you’d have been getting roses for years if you hadn’t said something.” Greg softly scolded, and Mycroft gave a small nod. “Thought you’d like this better this year, though.” Mycroft opened the box to find a heart shaped cake thick with icing roses on top. He broke out in a chuckle, and Greg eased it from the box to cut and share.


End file.
